


Of motels and haircuts

by Tenoko1



Series: Supernatural Prompts [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, BroBond, Brotp, Gen, Humor, Hunts and haircuts gone wrong, brothers being brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: Cases have kept them moving non-stop, but some things can only be neglected for so long.





	Of motels and haircuts

**Author's Note:**

> For awesomesusiebstuff over on tumblr.

Arms weighed down with bags, Sam shouldered the door to the motel room open, Dean close behind.

“What time is it?” Sam groaned, dropping his bags on the far bed and sagging with a bone-deep, weary sigh.

Grunting, Dean gracelessly let his bags crash to the floor and perched on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “Two in the freaking morning.”

Sam’s gaze swept over the bland room, it’s discolored walls, the threadbare comforters clashing with equally worn carpet. He sighed and sprawled in the corner chair, his long legs stretching to prop his feet up as he rubbed his forehead. His feet burned and throbbed from being on them all day. His knees ached from all the crouching and stalking through the woods; the running, ducking, and diving in a cemetery trying not to get impaled on a farmer’s scythe. Every muscle begged him to rest just a little while. And maybe for an ice pack or two.

“Have you checked in with the crew?” Sam asked.

Nodding, Dean rifled through his duffle until he retrieved a bottle of ibuprofen. “Yep.” He shook a few pills into his palm then held the bottle up in question. Sam caught it easily. “Cas and Claire are up in the New England area. Jody and Donna are taking care of their respective areas. Bobby and Garth are working together to give missions and check-in with everyone regularly. We had to call in reinforcements for New Orleans. I _told_ them they were gonna need more than three hunters for a town soaked in blood and horror, but.”

Dean popped back his pills, chasing them with a swig from a water bottle, before capping it and tossing it across the room to Sam. Dean caught the pill bottle in return.

Sam didn’t hesitate to chug the rest of the water, head throbbing at the base of his skull. “I do not miss this,” he sighed, slouching further into the chair. “Sleeping in a bed that’s not mine, questionable stains in the carpet, the permanent smell of cigarettes before no-smoking laws were passed.”

“Driving for days. Bruises you can’t remember the cause of. Blisters and stitches. Dissociating when it all just blends together.”

“Crappy water pressure. Showerheads I have to bend to get under. Feet and joints throbbing and swollen.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “We’re getting too old for this.”

“_You’re_ too old for this,” Sam countered.

“Brat.”

“Jerk.”

“Rock, paper, scissors for first shower?” Dean questioned, fist out.

Sam waved him off. “Because I am _magnanimous_, you can have the first shower.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pushed to his feet and snatched up his bag. “Your generosity knows no ends.”

“I make for a just and kind ruler.”

Dean snorted. “I promise not to use all the hot water, o king.”

“Your kindness does not go unappreciated.”

With another laugh, Dean disappeared behind the bathroom door.

* * *

Sam didn’t remember getting a shower or finally falling into bed-- which was why he took another shower when he woke up. It did ease some of the weariness, the exhaustion that made him not want to face another day of the same cycle.

But as long as there were monsters and danger, they needed to be trying to save as many people as they could.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Dean was dressed and there were to-go coffee cups on the table. He offered one to Sam.

“Speaking of being on the road too long,” drawled Dean. “I see you shaved, but, uh… you look in a mirror recently? Hair’s getting out of control, even for you. Birds are gonna braid it with ribbons while all the forest animals gather round.”

Sam snatched his coffee with an eye roll. “Shut up.”

“All seriousness though,” said Dean, gesturing with the hand that held his coffee, “that isn’t gonna work, Rapunzel. Your hair’s not FBI regulations on a normal day, but that definitely isn’t gonna pass. Lemme give you a trim.”

“Ha! _No_.”

“C’mon, Sammy. You trust me with your life, with a needle to sew up your skin, but not with a pair of _scissors_? Who do you think cuts my hair? Me.”

“Yeah, and who was it that always gave my choppy, uneven haircuts when we were growing up?”

“He fights monsters, but he fears a hair trim. I promise it won’t cost you your ability to commune with birds and bunnies, princess-- and you’ll still have enough left to protect that hard-as-rock head that apparently has a target sign on it.”

“Dean--”

“Just a _trim_, Sam,” insisted Dean, before waving a hand toward the door. “Unless you wanna go blow gas money on a _salon trip_. You know I’m right.”

Thing was: Dean _was_ right. Local cops and the sheriff had given him a double-take and once-over.

They were expected to meet up with Jody next. She was on a monster hunt while Alex pulled doubles at the hospital. Patience was working with Bobby, trying to see attacks before they happened. If anything made their cases easier, made them go by faster so he could _finally_ collapse in his own bed…

Sam heaved a sigh. “_Fine_!”

“There we go!” enthused Dean, yanking out and spinning a chair around. He excitedly patted the back of it with a toothy grin.

Sam jabbed a finger at him. “Just a _trim_, Dean.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a boy scout,” he said, settling into the chair, glad his hair was already wet.

Dean retrieved the med kit and scissors. “Hunter’s honor?”

“Yeah, that’s even _less_ reassuring.”

“Sure you don’t want me to use the clippers? Give you a nice, military flat top?”

“_Dean_.”

* * *

“It’s _not_ that bad,” Dean said again, thirty minutes into the drive to Jody’s.

Sam glared. “At no point in the history of that phrase has it _ever_ been true _or_ reassuring, Dean.” He tapped and swiped at his tablet harder than needed. “I cannot _believe_ you talked me into trusting you.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He raked his hands through his hair, the strands slipping through too quickly. “My hair hasn’t been this short since the _apocalypse_!”

“Better than Stanford,” offered Dean. “And hey, now it’s that much more time before you need another haircut.”

“I still have to get this fixed, you jerk! It's short _and_ uneven!”

Dean slid him a glance, mouth open. When his green eyes flicking to the layers that didn't lay _quite_ right, he changed his mind, focus shifting to the road. “Look, we’re headed to Jody’s anyway, and I’m sure she can smooth it out and you can calm down. And hey, look at it this way: with all that’s been going on, we needed a good night’s sleep and a laugh. I’ve done us both a solid.”

Sam rolled his eyes and dug out his phone, texting Jody as he succumbed to a lopsided grin. “You are impossible.”

“You misspelled 'awesome.'”

“_This is a verbal conversation_!” Sam laughed.

Grinning wide, Dean leaned forward to crank up the radio, miles flying by beneath them.

END


End file.
